do you have creative freedom?
I
Do you have creative freedom?
This thought stirs in the back of my mind, never-ending.
Every time that I look at work made in the modern lens
I begin again to see; the surreptitious intention,
slipped behind every logo which we have been trained to view
as if it was with X-ray vision.
Within this mechanical operation of human life;
One can only pretend to shout the answer into an abyss,
filled with the answers of many before them.
Future generations left to survey like archaeologists,
finding forgotten writing long past.
When we arrive at this point, at the singularity of creativity,
At what point can we call our work unique?
Is it creative in the first place? Is creativity dead,
killed by this quiet and everlasting hum of consumerism?
Is it just a tool for modernity and capital?
Told we are unique, the pioneers of the future,
we carelessly let our design ego take over.
A danger in and of itself, ego becomes the designer.
We pack our field into a meritocratic hierarchy,
we convince ourselves that our work is most important.
So why does it feel meaningless?
Why create work with eyes glossed over, submitting our talent
to the panopticon? In exchange for only enough to live?
As if to be an infernal engine perpetually fueled by
preservatives and microplastics in which we consume happily?
II
Do you have creative freedom?
Social Media opens its gaze upon every aspect of our lives,
with which the panopticon looks upon us,
It extracts our personalities and thoughts with little biases,
struggle or joy crunched into 1s and 0s.
Chained to our phones we march towards the singularity.
Potential unlimited, the young mind is handed the tablet.
Like the battery of this device, the potential drains out,
No longer is the classroom required to create this loop.
Machines create machines out of humans.
Meanwhile humans work to let those machines create art.
This escapism plays a deep role in the new wave human.
So we dive into devices which hold the library of Babel,
Bred in an endless scroll of nonsense, mixing overstimulation and data, creating perfect potions of idle complacency.
Drowned in an overflow of information, how do we begin to think?
An endless sea of doors is set out in front of us,
But oh! The happiness! The work is already done!
We follow the brightly illuminated line to the door,
That which was already chosen for us.
This is simply how it should be, do not question it!
What is reality? What is right? What is good?
Frightening existentiality creates horrible anxiety,
anxiety which brings us back to the vicious cycle.
And so we dance in this loop for eternity,
Forget those painful ideas rather than confront them!
III
And so the child, eyes now dulled, sets off to academia,
yet the root of the word is no longer its purpose.
The assembly line has functioned well until this point,
there is no intention of stopping it now.
When passion is gone, a paycheck replaces it.
And with the pursuit of pay, the landscape changes,
Competitive markets, high value clients, broken designers.
No longer is this field viewed upon as art,
“visual marketing,” Aesthetics diluted by accolades.
We copy only that which will only make us more efficient.
Distilled mixture of designer, refined into corporate gain.
Art now twisted, intentions; shifted towards the needs and wants
of a personified company which dictates value.
Designers are not part of this process, instead tools used to
increase gain until they are dried out like natural resources.
Working tirelessly, meaningless careers,
Wearing burnout as a badge of honor,
Teetering on the precipice of happiness and despair.
The world is in motion, so why do we pretend it has stopped?
Maybe we do not see reason in fighting an uphill battle.
Years of cultural conditioning, our shells left empty.
Forcefully giving up hopes and dreams, we are tired.
Perhaps a spark is needed to ignite these fires within,
would that begin to let us start anew?
To be reminded of our uniqueness and ability?
I ask again, do you have creative freedom?
